Kiros eased back with a satisfied sigh and took another long drink of Winhill’s vintage Sylkis, enjoying the bitter bite of it on his tongue. He lifted the glass into the dying sunlight and watched it dance through the clear, golden liquid.

“I can see why you would chose to stay here,” he said, watching the sprawling fields of grass ripple with the evening breeze. In the distance, he fancied he heard the warbling kweh of a chicobo.

Laguna roused himself out of his sleepy daze, laying with his head resting on Kiros’ stomach. As he shifted to look up at his companion, his hair slipped with a whisper over dark skin, out of the other’s lazy grasp. “You just got finished telling me you can’t see why I’d stay here.”

The answer was a shrug. “It’s different from the rest of Galbadia.”

Laguna looked back to the sky as memories flooded back. Winhill’s flower-lined dirt roads and cobblestone Square were a world away from Deling City’s steel and concrete and bright, endless nights. A throwback to another century. He hated watching armed soldiers guard the streets, even as he desperately wished for more of them.

“Yeah, well,” Laguna answered after a long moment had passed.

Kiros merely chuckled. He dipped a long finger into his glass, brought it glistening to Laguna’s lips and painted them wet. “Relax.”

“I’ve got-” Laguna said, trying to speak without dislodging Kiros’s finger. Giving up, he dipped his head, swiped his tongue over the length of it in a movement that was both playful and seductive. He froze with the pad nipped between his teeth. “Did you hear that?” he mumbled around it.

“Hear what?” Kiros’ eyes were closed, his attention focused on the delicious pressure of lips, teeth and tongue.

The sound echoed again, and Laguna drew away. “That.”

Kiros sat up, quickly and quietly alert. “That was gunfire,” he said, giving voice to the fear creeping like a disease through Laguna’s mind. The other was already on his feet.